Newspapers and Papercuts
by ashleyjordan
Summary: Germany is enjoying a quite afternoon in his office when the whole house is turned upside down when Italy rushes in with a papercut. What is a poor German to do? This is a tale about how Germany deals with his little friend and how they spend the day.


The glow of morning filtered through the dappled lace curtains that blocked the majority of the sunlight from flooding into the earth-toned study. A burly man sat promptly behind an oak desk in a large auburn chair, quietly sipping a fresh cup of brewed coffee as his crystal blue eyes roved over the freshly printed articles of the daily tabloid. The stillness of the peaceful Sunday morning was shattered by the high-pitched wailing that whisked through the corridors and hallways of the mansion, making its screeching journey to the gloomy office belonging to Germany. At the disarrayed commotion, the man glanced up in alarm, scanning the room in search of danger. He found the crumpled form of a young man sprawled out across the Turkish rug that carpeted his wooden floorboards.

"Oh it's you, Italy…" He sighed, folding his newspaper before casually setting it on a decorative end table near his writing desk. He then approached the collapsed figure, who helplessly whimpered,

"Please help me!" Germany knelt next to the brown-haired boy, slightly puzzled,

"What's wrong?" Italy sat up, his eyes brimming with fresh tears as he hesitatively held up his left index finger,

"I hurted my finger!" Concern flashed across the usually stern features of the German.

"How'd that happen?" Italy blushed, turning away, tapping his fingers together out of embarrassment,

"I-I was cooking see, I got excited and flipped through the pages quickly," A new batch of salty liquid arose to the rim of his eye, threatening to spill over as he tearfully explained, "then I accidentally sliced it on the pages of our recipe book!"

"Hey stop that!" Germany gripped Italy's hands, prying them away from each other. The Italian had unintentionally rubbed his injured finger against his other appendages, spreading the cut further. Once he made sure Italy would not bother the wound anymore, Germany used his knee as support to push his hefty frame up into a standing position.

"Wait here, okay?"

"O-okay." The lithe brunette eagerly nodded in response. Germany briefly ran a hand through his blonde tresses, shaking his head, baffled by his little friend's oddities. He exited the room, leaving Italy unaccompanied for a few minutes. The teenager glanced up at his new surroundings, never having been allowed into Germany's office before. He timidly peeked around, making sure that he was alone before he swiftly rose to his feet. He tiptoed towards the desk, curious about why Germany was so fascinated by the barrage of paper work that swamped the oak table. He simply shrugged, quickly bored by the arduous information. Abruptly, there was a loud chirping that rang from a hand crafted box that hung securely to the olive wall. Italy's eyes shone with delight as he admired the cuckoo clock with awe, spurting with laughter as the wee yellow bird popped out to announce the dwindling hour. Suddenly, Germany appeared through the door again, carrying a small fist aid kit. In his surprise, Italy scurried backwards, accidentally tripping over the chair, crashing to the floor with a mangled cry.

"Italy!" German shouted, significantly alarmed.

"Non preoccuparsi, sono bello Germania!" Italy held out his hand, returning to his native tongue as he waved off his embarrassing stumble,

"Are you sure?" Germany called, preoccupying himself with straightening out his overturned office chair as to not allow Italy notice how flustered he had become.

"Yep, fools like me are surprisingly tough!" Italy responded with a merry smile plastered to his face as he flexed his skimpy bicep, attempting to assure his pale friend of his durability.

"Ach meines, you've gotta be more careful. C'mere Ita-kun!" Germany scooped the russest-haired boy's body up in his strong forearms, placing him in the base of the comfortable chair. After delivering his precious package on the soft mounds of the posh sofa cushion, Germany stomped over to where the first aid kit had been strewn in his haste to reach Italy's side. He picked up and organized a few of the bandages and ointments that had been shaken loose during the fall. The fair youth approached his younger counterpart, giving him a warning glance not to move during the operative procedure.

"There you go, good as new!" Germany stated, beaming with pride. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, his eyes following the bandages that he had securely fastened to the punctured gash of flesh. The Arian man turned to attend to the heap of envelopes and business cards that were collected on his desk, a pile that increased daily if it went unnoticed. While Germany scratched his signature across a dotted line at the bottom of the page of multiple letters and requests, Italy lifted his left hand, examining the binding that surrounded his injured appendage. After a few seconds of looking it over, Italy suddenly cried,

"No! It's not good!"

"Excuse me?" Germany whirled around, startled. The notebook that he had previously held in his hand fell to the floor, as his offended pride got the best of him.

"It's not good yet," Italy explained, "you have to kiss it better so it'll get well!" This news caused Germany to be taken aback slightly with Italy's forwardness. Shock became evident on his light features as a rosy blush shadowed his cheekbones. After a moment's pause, which Germany used to summon up his courage and dignity, he finally extended his fingers, reaching across the desk to reach Italy's hand, which he then cupped and slowly drew to his waiting pink lips. Germany glanced up at Italy, whose face was burning a scarlet red. The flaxen-haired gentleman chuckled, allowing his lips to grace the battered hand that was resting in his palm.

"There, is it better now?" A small smile stole across his face as he consented to his young friend's wishes.

"Y-yes, I think so," Came Italy's heated voice, his breath coming in short pants, quite embarrassed by his friend's sweet gesture.

"Oh you think so, huh?" Germany ruffled Italy's curly brown hair, a grin creeping up at the corner of his mouth as he flipped Italy over across the desk, attacking his stomach with his nails. Italy burst out into fits of laughter, begging Germany to stop tickling him.

"Ahahah, stop it Germany! Please stop it, I can't bare it any more, hee hee!"

"Nope, not until you surrender!" Germany declared, dipping his hand underneath the boy's navy blue shirt, brushing his palm across Italy's bare tummy in intricate patterns, moving upwards when Italy attempted to block the opposing limbs from reaching his ticklish stomach. Germany seized an opening, darting his hand out to scratch across the responsive stretch of skin that connected his jaw to his collarbone, rubbing along the thick span of neck muscle. A loud 'eep!' sounded as Germany's fingers sweeped across the delicate area behind Italy's ear, resulting in a jerky buck of the youngster's hipbone due to the unexpected pressure and intense pleasure exuding from the sensitive nape of his neck. Germany tilted his head, silently making a mental note of this new found favored location. A victorious glimmer shone in his stark blue eyes as Italy's small frame started to shudder in an unknown pleasure from being touched in such an arousing area. A low rumble resounded from Germany's throat as he murmured,

"Do you surrender yet?"

"Yes, yes! I surrender!" Italy managed to choke out between squeals, finally coming to meet the pair of bright sapphire eyes that were gazing steadily back at his brown orbs.

"Fine then, I relent." Germany said, pulling away from Italy's body which was strewn across the top of his desk. The back of the Italian's hand rested across his forehead as the young boy's chest noticeably rose up and down from the challenge of regaining the breath he had loss during the ambush made against his unprepared fort. Germany reclined back into his stationary chair, studying the movements of the young man before him as he commented,

"I hope you'll learn to be more careful in the future." Italy cracked open an eye, a repentant expression evident on his face and in his sorrow-laced voice,

"I'm so sorry if I made you upset, I didn't mean for-" Germany cut off his apology, waving his left hand in the air as he continued,

"No, it's okay. Everything's fine now…your finger's bandaged, you're safe. Just don't scare me like that again. Promise?"

"Promise! Oh and thanks Germany!" Germany's face broke with the glimmer of a smile as well, content with the safety and joy of his younger counterpart.

"Oh by the way, what were you trying to bake in the kitchen earlier?"

"Apple strudel but-"

"That's my favorite desert!" Germany cried in delight.

"Yeah…I figured as much. But I don't know how good it'll taste." Italy nibbled uncertainly on a finger nail, contemplating whether or not his guardian should view his creation. Germany's excited face convinced him to forget his worry. He rushed over, grabbing the older man's wrist, yanking on it like an eager child.

"Come and see, come and see!"

"O-okay! Slow down!" Germany cried, practically falling over his feet as he was dragged along down the hall way towards the spacious kitchen located in the center of the mansion. Italy pushed open the door, revealing a bright and sunny room.

"Um…well, I had a problem with the oven." Italy sheepishly admitted, tugging on the hem of his shirt with embarrassment, "And that's what's left of the strudel."

Speechless, Germany gazed about the room, taking note of the windowpanes battered with oil and sugar, the walls splattered with fragments of egg shells which were sliding down the cabinets. Lumps of dough and apple rinds littered the counter and tiled floor. It appeared as if a bombshell had exploded, covering the entire stove and tabletops with a thick layer of flour, eggshells and pots and pans. Traces of shock and slight depression stretched across Germany's crestfallen face, notably saddened by his destroyed kitchen. Wordlessly, he grabbed a rag that was hanging off the stove then swiped it over the counter, beginning the dreary process of cleaning up. Italy slide out of the room, guilt smothering him.

"Italy?" Germany looked up, surprised that Italy was no longer in the room.

"Where'd you go?"

"I'm right here!" Italy announced, trudging through the door way with a bucket in hand and a mop slung across a shoulder.

"Good thinking!" Germany grabbed the bucket, lifting it into the sink and flipping on the switch, filling the steel pail with warm, clean water to rinse down the mangled kitchen. Germany set the bucket on the floor, nodding to Italy that he could begin his task. Italy's eyes shone with determination as he dipped the mop into the container, sloshing water over the sides as he swept the dirty floor with gusto.

The hour past by slowly, time watching the two friends hard at work, mopping, washing, drying and organizing the kitchen back to the way it was before Italy's ordeal with the oven.

"I thought you said you just sliced your finger on the cook book." Germany wiped his brow, reclining back on the sparkling clean countertop, "You didn't tell me you blew up the kitchen!"

"Y-yeah well, I wanted it to be a surprise!" Italy brushed the last contents of spoiled dough into a waste basin as he explained, "I was halfway done when I was scanning through the directions. I wanted to check the time because I thought it had been in for a long time. Seems like I was right! Heheheh…so yeah, the strudel overheated and burst all over the room. It shocked me and I wasn't watching what I was doing, and that's how the paper sliced me." He set the mop down, coming to stand near his friend's side, "Then I came running to you…please don't be mad at me Germany."

"Ah I'm not, mein freund. I'm actually proud of you."

"Huh, you are?" Italy asked, totally confused.

"Yup, I am." Germany rested a hand atop Italy's head, giving it a gentle pat, "You did the right thing, coming to me when you needed help. You can always come to me when you get hurt, okay?" Italy instantly brightened; a beaming smile apparent on his rosy features as his eyes closed half-way in simple merriment of being accepted and loved by someone he so admired and was fortunate enough to consider a close friend.

"Okay! Thanks Germany!" Italy quickly embraced him, circling his arms around Germany's midsection. Germany's eyes widened but instantly softened as he gazed down at his adorable friend. In return, Germany allowed his forearms slip around the lithe figure resting against his chest. He inhaled the sweet scent of Italy's hair as he murmured against the soft curls,

"Heh, don't mention it." A moment later, they broke the embrace, both of them leaning against the counter, surveying their handiwork.

"So…wanna get something to eat? I'm hungry." Italy scratched his stomach, earning a responsive growl from the mentioned organ, causing the men to chuckle.

"How bout we try making that strudel one last time?" Germany suggested after their laughter had died down.

"Sure! But I don't think we have any more eggs." Italy bit his bottom lip, contemplating how many eggs he had used that afternoon.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it. Just get out the other ingredients." Germany ordered, turning towards the hallway. "I'll be back in a few!" He called over his shoulder, rushing out the front door, slamming the slate of wood in his haste.

Italy was for a loss without his commander but decided he might as well get started, carefully setting out bowls and measuring cups from the drawers. He opened the refrigerator, glad that they still had a bushel of apples remaining. He grabbed them and set the fruit on the counter, returning to the frig to draw out a stick of butter and milk. After those were secure on the table, he ventured into the pantry, returning with a handful of caskets of sugar, nutmeg and cinnamon. Just as he had straightened the spices next to the other ingredients, Germany burst through the kitchen, a carton of eggs sheltered between his fingers.

"Uwah! Germany, you're all wet!" Italy cried, rushing over to pat the rain drops off of Germany's soaken frame. The blonde shrugged out of his over coat, allowing Italy to hang it on the coat rack as he busied himself with setting his precious package next to the apples and milk.

"Wow, where'd you get that many eggs?" Italy exclaimed, in awe of the glistening white ovals snuggled in betwixt rough cardboard. Germany glanced up, throwing a triumphant grin at the boy as he replied,

"I _relieved_ them from a pair of citizens who had too many belongings. I saw that they had some eggs and I didn't want to keep you waiting so I sprinted back home. I'm sure they'll be just fine, so don't worry about a thing Ita-kun."

"Relived?" Italy's eyebrows narrowed, "Uh…that doesn't sound like they wanted you to take their eggs from them."

"They said thanks for helping carry their stuff so it's valid payment for my kindness, or are you questioning my judgment Italy?"

"No, no! Not at all Germany!" Italy cowered, lifting his hands up defensively with a forced smile wavering on his usually cheerful face. "Let's start cooking!"

Off in the distance, a pair of slender men stood in the pouring rain with an assorted pile of packages strewn across soggy cobblestones; their voices audible above the roar of the downpour. One, the smaller of the two, began accusingly,

"How could you be so stupid? Oh yeah, just hand a complete stranger our belongings without so much as knowing their intentions!" He snorted, his large eyebrows furrowing together in anger. The man's companion bristled, his nostrils flaring as he retorted,

"Stupid? Me, stupid? You must be joking! His intentions? He intended to help us, he said so himself! That man saw us in trouble and offered to assist us. So what did I do? I used my logical brain to figure out that this was a gift from God, a guardian angel sent from Heaven to help us!" His arms spread wide to illustrate his point as he continued yelling, "And so, I handed him my stuff so I could help you! And what do I get for my efforts? A huge rant about how useless I am! I can't take this anymore, not from some pushy Brit! I'm the hero! I don't need to stand for this! I-"

"Would you just shut your bloody mouth for an instant and let me think?" The petite dirty-blonde clenched his teeth, massaging his temple to avoid the massive headache that had been building.

"Oh of course, thinking will surely get us out of this mess!" The blonde American snapped sarcastically.

"Do you have a better suggestion?" The green-eyed British man challenged, coming close to the face of his taller and broader partner, who stated,

"Yeah, we stand here and wait for that man to come back." The lean man's jaw dropped,

"You can't seriously believe he's coming back, can you?" The larger one with a thick American accent nodded. The shorter one smacked his head with his palm,

"You surely are an idiot Alfred! That man robbed us and you think standing here will solve everything. Gosh why am I putting up with a dumb yank like you? I should have just told Aunt Mary that I couldn't attend her annual picnic in the park…that would have saved me from all of this!"

"But that's it!" Alfred cried, wiping dripping bangs out of his line of vision to look at his comrade clearly through the hazy drizzle, "We can't let Auntie Mary down, she's counting us to bring half of the food and you're just going to give up like that? This boy ain't quitting! Not me, no siree! Who's with me?" The blonde exclaimed, raising a fist high into the air in glee. He turned to look at his companion, who was simply gazing back at him with a blank stare.

"Come on Arthur! It's not like you to submit so easily! Whatever happened to your precious honor?" The blonde taunted, poking the British lad's cheek as he did so.

"It disintegrated the moment I met you." Came a low murmur from the fair youth.

"Hahah, good one buddy! Just cover the pain of lost dignity with false bravado! Okay come on then! Let's get out of this rain…we can go wait for the man under that tarp!" The brazen dolt announced, tugging at the sleeve of his friend's olive overcoat, who mildly swatted his hand away,

"Or we could simply buy a new carton of eggs, since that's all that the man took."

"Really, that's all?" Alfred asked, his blue irises perking up in surprise. The man by the name of Arthur nodded, picking up parcels and packages that were getting doused with the rain water which had collected between the cobblestones of the paved roadway.

"Hmmm…odd. What would he want with a bunch of eggs?"

"I haven't a clue. But presently, that's not our biggest dilemma." Arthur rubbed his eyes, clearing them of dewy rain that had stuck to his thick lashes, "Where are we going to find a store open at this hour? It's already nearing seven o'clock and we aren't halfway to Scotland yet!"

"Right then! I think I spotted a grocery off Waverly and Ruthford. Follow me!"

"You'd better know where you're going this time!"

"This time? Hah, what are you talking about?" Alfred demanded, laughing good-naturedly as he bent down to gather the rest of their possessions, "I'm like the perfect picture of a walking roadmap. No, no, scratch that! A compass! Yeah, a walking compass! I like the sound of that!"

"Oh boy here we go again!" The figures divided the packages between them into even portions than hurriedly dashed to the side of the road, sprinting underneath the shop awnings and parapets of stone that served as a shelter from the brewing storm. They soon reached the last pillar, leading towards a small town hidden by dusk. The pair stepped out into the night, quickly disappearing under the sheet of rain, guided by the pure instinct of the American citizen, which was quite unfortunate for the English gentleman.

Back in the warm, spacious abode of Germany, the kitchen was a whirl with movement. Germany had already preheated the oven and was in the process of chopping apples into bite-sized pieces while Italy was busy measuring the correct amount of water, flour, sugar and butter into the mixture of dough and eggs waiting inside the red bowl which was the focal point of the entire kitchen. Once Germany was done slicing the apples, he slid the white meat of the fruit into the combination with the flat of his knife. Italy scurried to find a spoon and patiently waited until Germany was finished pouring the fluids and solid ingredients into the mix. Germany set the pitcher and measuring cups inside the basin of the sink, quickly spraying water over the dishes in an attempt to maintain some sort of order of the soon-to-be-sullied kitchen. After that task was complete, he returned to Italy's side, gripping the tiny boy by the waist and hoisting him upwards so he could see what he was about to stir. Italy placed the wooden spoon within the container but paused, tilting his head to glance at Germany with his brown, puppy dog-like eyes.

"Sing it for me Germany!" The man in particular sighed,

"Okay but just this once. You'd better not let my brother know that I still know this song!" Italy squealed, as he happily turned back to the bowl in front of him,

"Of course not! Prussia won't know a thing! Now sing, sing!"

"Ugh…fine. Here it goes-

Round and round, and round it goes,

Where it stops, no body knows,

No body knows but Italy!" He held out the main syllable of Italy's name for about five seconds before he cried,

"Stop!" Italy brought his utensil suddenly to a halt, exactly when Germany had decried, for that is the rule of the game.

"Now it's your turn!"

"No it's okay, you can stir for me." Germany offered, setting Italy's feet onto the firm ground.

"But you have to!" Italy begged, "We always both do it…please?"

"Ach meines, why must you be so difficult to resist?" Germany sighed, running a hand through his flaxen tresses, unknowingly scattering flour through out his light hair.

"Because I'm adorable!" Italy winked, striking a cute pose. Germany blushed, grasping the handle of the spoon as he shook his head,

"Yeah, that's it."

"Just do it already, I'll even sing for you!"

"You'd better, for I'm not singing that silly song again!" Germany huffed, preparing himself to begin blending the thick eggy-dough together.

"Tch, it's not silly Germania! Perché deve lei è così semplice?" Italy complained briefly before hopping up onto the counter, letting his legs dangle off the counter as he parted his pink lips to sing the child-like song once again, only this time in his native tounge.

"In tondo ed in tondo, ed intorno esso va,

Dove ferma, nessuno corpo sa,

Nessuno corpo sa ma Germania!"

Germany spun the spoon fluidly through the dough, concentrating on the angel-like voice of his petite companion, waiting to here the command signal. After a few minutes had past, he glanced up, meeting the smug face of Italy.

"Why haven't you said it yet?"

"Let's see how long you can go!"

"What? No, just let me stop already!"

"Nope, you can't until I say so!" Italy grinned triumphantly as Germany returned to stirring the lump within the crimson container, a scowl fixed upon his brow. Italy sighed, no longer enjoying Germany's innocent torture when his friend was upset.

"Fine, fine, you big baby…fermata!" Germany released his hold on the wooden ladle, resting against the counter.

"Thank goodness! I thought my arm was going to fall off!"

"Pshh, and here I always thought you were stronger than that." Italy commented shrewdly, receiving a shocked out burst from his pale partner. As Germany became flustered, he forgot where his hand was. It hit the edge of the spoon, sending it flying through the air. Luckily, it landed in the sink and only left a thin trail to follow. Germany ripped off the wash rag hanging by the stove and swiftly wiped the sodden dough from the tiled floor. He returned to the counter top to see Italy, sliding his finger through dough that had fallen over the side of the bowl. The gangly youth swiped through the ball, picking up the dropped segment and raised it to his lips, popping a dough-covered finger inside his mouth to suck off the contents. He realized eyes were on him and so, wordlessly, he held the bowl open to his friend, offering him a free lick of the gooey mixture since he had received one. Germany slowly dipped the tip of his finger inside the pan, tenderly giving it a lick.

"Ach, we forgot the spices." He turned to the cupboard to retrieve the forgotten cinnamon and nutmeg. On his return, Germany tapped some in; Italy looking on cautiously, calling for more cinnamon or saying that there was enough nutmeg when he saw fit. Once Italy was satisfied, his face broke in gladness, excitement shinning in his eyes,

"Time for the oven!"

"Hold your horses; we have to put it in a pan first!"

"Okay okay, I'll get the pan!" Italy skipped over to the shelves, bending down to pull out a glass pie dish from the bottom drawer. He placed it on the counter, motioning for Germany to pour the batter, which he did. After the majority of the contents were scrapped off the edges of the pot, Germany created a pretty, latticed design with the excess heap of dough and apple slices. After he was certain he had not forgotten any last minute instructions or ingredients, Germany popped the pie dish into the over, closing the door with a soft hiss.

"Now we wait."

"For how long?" Italy asked, gazing longingly at the cooking strudel. Germany scratched his chin, contemplating the time and temperature of their creation.

"Oh for about a good half hour, I'd say." After his announcement, he lent down, resting the palms of his hands on his kneecaps,

"What would you like to do while we wait?"

"Well, we could take a walk or sit on the couch and drink tea." Italy suggested, murmuring appreciatively.

"Hmm, agreed. I'll start the kettle but before that, we need to clean up first."

"I don't have to."

"And why not?" Germany inquired puzzlingly, lifting an eyebrow at his incredulous companion. The warm chuckle of the Italian's voice hit Germany's eardrums as he silently watched the small boy smudge a line of flour onto his right cheek before the miscreant skipped away, followed by a trail of giggles and a rushed explanation,

"I'm not dirty anymore!" It took Germany a second to comprehend Italy's intentions before he roared,

"I'm not cleaning up the whole kitchen by myself! Why you little rascal, come back here this instant!"

"If you want me, you're going to have to catch me first!" Italy taunted, swinging a finger under his superior's nose as he rounded the corner, skipping off with a lively Germany fast on his trail.

"That's something I'd be glad to do!" Germany smirked, chasing the skinny, brown-haired boy in circles over his large estate, both of them enjoying the peace and contentment of their secluded abode, heedless as the wind blew about the trees surrounding the premises; leaving the last traces of the violent rainstorm on the leaves that shuddered with the cold of the fast approaching winter. .

**Foot Notes:**

"Non preoccuparsi, sono bello Germania!"- translation of Italian: "Don't worry, I'm fine Germany!

"Ach meines"- translation of German: "Oh my"

"Mein freund"- translation of German: "My friend"

"Perché deve lei è così semplice"- translation of Italian: "Why must you be so simple?"

"In tondo ed in tondo, ed intorno esso va,

Dove ferma, nessuno corpo sa,

Nessuno corpo sa ma Germania!"- translation of Italian: "Round and round, and round it goes, where it stops, no body knows, no body knows but Germany!"


End file.
